


the kissing is a little nice

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Angst, Cigarettes, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he feels like the last cigarette in the pack, the last minute of camera battery, the last pill in a bottle in the back of a cabinet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the kissing is a little nice

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for: disappointing sex scene and some mentions of weed, i dont know

they concentrate so much on going as far as they can every day that they sometimes have to stop at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and sleep in the car, miles from any hotel.

the area is a perfect site for filming, empty fields all around them, clear sky full of stars, no other cars on the road. maybe years ago jay would have felt something other than trepidation looking around at the bare country, but his hand shakes when he holds the camera and he keeps rubbing his eyes, because he can't exactly remember what he felt years ago.

so instead it will have to serve as a perfect place for running away.

he doesn't upload most of the blurry footage he takes on the road, just watches it in the car to check for anything that might have happened during the night and to fill the long hours driving or sitting in the passenger seat.

tim sits in the car while jay stands outside and films. the radio plays something uninteresting he's barely listening to.

“see anything?” he asks.

“nothing out there,” jay says.

he gets into the back. there's a pillow already on the seat. he grabs blankets from the back of the car and tosses one to tim as he pulls out a pillow from under the driver's seat.

they're always hesitant to turn off the car when they have to sleep in it. the lights make them feel a little safer, but they don't have all the gas and battery power in the world.

sometime around midnight tim turns it back on so he can unroll the window and smoke. the radio turns on with it and he quickly turns it off, but it doesn't matter, jay hasn't slept anyway.

he hasn't had a change of clothes in a few days. he sniffs his shirt, and hears tim shuffle in the driver's seat.

“should I stand outside?” when he opens his mouth a coil of smoke writhes out from between his yellowed teeth and his tongue. jay watches it disappear and tim's mouth close.

“I'm smelling my clothes.”

tim laughs. “what does it smell like?”

“sweat,” he says with a crinkled nose, “and cigarette smoke.”

tim laughs again and takes another drag of his cigarette. jay keeps looking at the collar of his shirt pinched between his fingers, because it isn't his. it's red plaid.

he pushes off his blanket and sits up. he moves forward to look down at tim's. “when did we start wearing each others clothes?”

tim glances down at his shirt and shrugs. “when we basically started living together.”

he holds the smoke in his mouth, hot, bitter, strong, and lets it out slowly with pursed lips. jay watches, and picks a string off the edge of his shirt. tim's shirt. 

“what does it taste like?”

“huh?” tim holds the cigarette between his fingers. jay points to it.

“oh. do you wanna try?” jay has tried it twice, once in middle school and in college, both to impress people.

he nods. 

tim climbs into the back seat to give it to him. jay takes it awkwardly in his hand and almost drops it onto the seat.

“sorry, I-” he stutters.

“it's okay.” tim puts his hand around jay's, and curls his fingers so the cigarette sits just right in them, and guides it up to jay's lips. he coughs, exactly what he did when he tried it before, and the smoke is too warm against the roof of his mouth and he spits it out with a heave of breath.

that's when he notices tim is almost sitting in his lap, staring at him, and he asks, “so what does it taste like?”

“it tastes like.” he stops, and looks at the window tim left open, out at the deserted road and the long grass moving in the wind, thinks about how far they've traveled, about the mattress that burned up with his apartment, about the nights he spent alone on it, and then stops thinking.

tim's hands are still around his fingers, brushing against his cheek, and he presses his other hand against tim's chest, to feel his ragged shirt from wal-mart, and tim almost always wears plaid, and he always wears plain colors, his mouth doesn't feel plain at all.

at some point they start kissing, and it isn't nice, or romantic. they both taste like cigarettes, cheap toothpaste from hurriedly brushing this morning, bad food from a drive-thru, and fear, fear, fear like bile in their throats.

well. the kissing is a little nice.

tim uses a lot of tongue but not in the good way, and jay thinks he hasn't kissed a lot of people. he didn't have many chances to, he guesses.

jay breaks the kiss so he can direct tim's tongue elsewhere, and he goes for his neck, sucking and biting hungrily. there's so much hunger in every touch.

he doesn't know what to do with the cigarette, so he puts it back in his mouth and tries to take another drag. it still makes him cough, and tim laughs against his neck. he takes it in his hands and leans back, still sitting on jay, and does an uncomfortable sideways turn without actually turning to put it out on the ashtray near the front of the car, in a way he intends to be sexy, but jay doesn't comment, just wordlessly kisses him when he leans back down.

with his hands free, he moves them up tim's sides and pulls up his shirt. jay kisses his shoulders, his collarbone, down his chest, everywhere under tim's shirt, _jay's_ shirt, because his skin has a day's worth of driving sweat and faintly smells like the last hotel they slept in's soap, and he is warm and alive and breathing under him. his rough hands curl into his hair and jay leans into the touch. he knocks off jay's hat and it tumbles on the floor next to discarded water bottles. there isn't much to grab but he wants to feel tim's knuckles against his scalp. 

he feels like the last cigarette in the pack, the last minute of camera battery, the last pill in a bottle in the back of a cabinet. it feels so satisfying pulling tim's cock out of his pants and putting his hands around it. 

tim watches jay's mouth move over his body and thinks about his secrets, the things he's lied about, will continue to lie about, and desperately wants to tell jay about, and he wants to fuck that desperateness into him, wants him to suck it out of him, swallow all the guilt.

they don't have any condoms or lube, anything required to go farther. jay spits into his hand and puts it back on tim's dick, tim keeps saying “god, god, god,” something jay hasn't ever felt close to, and he doesn't think he'll know how to get closer tonight.

his elbows dig into the seat as he jerks up and down, and tim moves around in his lap, his leg resting on his thigh, and he gets hard enough for his pants to be uncomfortable just as tim comes. 

tim's whole body relaxes more than he's ever seen him relax before, his shoulders slack, his face soft. he reaches for jay's fly and fumbles with it, unzips it and reaches inside. he takes jay in his hands and wants to put his mouth around the head, but there isn't enough room in the back seat for him to get down on his knees, so he jerks him off sloppily.

jay goes to wipe off the come and tim takes his hands in his own, like when he gave him the cigarette, the other one still wrapped around jay's dick, and he licks it off. his mouth is warm and jay's mouth fills up with saliva.

just as quickly as tim, jay finishes, and his boxers stick to his skin and his jeans are rubbing against him uncomfortably, and he kisses tim, who is still thinking about what jay would taste like down his throat, or how much fucking him until morning would made him forget his worries. 

“jay. jay,” tim mumbles, hands all over jay's back.

“hm?”

“do you wanna get high?” 

“...what?” 

“let's go get high. let's get some weed and get high,” he laughs breathlessly. “I haven't gotten high since college.”

jay looks out the window again, looking past tim. “I don't...know if that's a good idea, tim.”

“yeah. it really isn't,” he says. 

they roll back up the window when they go to sleep.


End file.
